


Branded on Blood and Breath

by elena0206



Series: Hannibal Advent 2015 [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: HannibalAdvent, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Finale, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 01:02:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5270705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elena0206/pseuds/elena0206
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham discovers a scar he never knew Hannibal Lecter had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Branded on Blood and Breath

**Author's Note:**

> Written while listening to [these background sounds.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fMRGDHNJwJU)

* * *

* * *

 

It was early in the afternoon. The room was warm and the sunrays were mild. A balmy breeze was making the thin curtains wave in front of the open balcony door. There were birds chirping outside, insects buzzing around, and the low and distant rumble of the village. Life was quiet in their little countryside house, especially during summer afternoons, when the heat was too overwhelming for children to play outside and make noise, or for the elders to chatter at every corner of the streets.

It smelled of freshly brewed coffee, and Hannibal’s skin was alluring, a few shiny drops of water still drying on his back. He had just taken a shower when Will entered the bedroom to bring him coffee. Seeing that Hannibal was almost asleep, he joined him on bed, careful not to make too much noise. 

Hannibal was lying on his abdomen, with hands bent under his head. He had his eyes closed, restless eyeballs moving under the heavy eyelids, and he was falling asleep, caressed under Will’s gentle touch. It was only then, months after they’ve been together and on the run, when Hannibal finally allowed Will to see him, completely vulnerable and unthreatening, stripped of all layers of secrets. There was nothing to hide between the two of them anymore. Just soul on soul, skin on skin, and fragments of memories – particles of dust suspended on a sun ray. 

He watched his lover’s calm face and his steady breathing. He ran his finger through his hair softly, and placed a kiss on his forehead. And another one on his temple. And one on his cheek. On his jaw, and neck, and shoulder. And then, he saw it: Verger’s name and the family’s coat of arms encased in a circle on Hannibal’s back.

“Hannibal…”

Will’s voice trembled between soft sounds, whispering the other’s name. The heavy burden of realization poured over him, leaving him soaked in a sense of regret. 

It was healed, but the scar it left felt like a splinter in the eye for Will. He trailed the darkened marks with his fingertips, barely brushing the blemished flesh. He felt enraged that Hannibal would always have to live with it. And at the same time, he felt guilty that he never took the time to think about Hannibal’s scars, instead of his own before. He wasn’t the only one marked physically – Hannibal was too.

He pressed his lips on Hannibal’s back and kissed his scar softy. He couldn’t make it go away, but for a second – for a brief second – perhaps it would disappear under the tender weight of his kiss. The touch made Hannibal wake up with a silent sigh, breathing in and out deeply. He opened his eyes.

“I never knew,” Will confessed with remorseful sorrow.

The silence between them was burdened with the fragility of the broken teacup they had put back together. 

“How would you have known?” Hannibal’s voice was deep and low.

“I, I never asked.”

“You cannot see what you cannot see.”

Hannibal turned on his back, and extended his arm to cup Will’s face in his hand. He stroked his cheek with his thumb gently, over the scar the Red Dragon had given him.

“If anything, they are birthmarks. Memories of a past life fueling fresh beginnings.”

“There are aspects of the past that will always nudge the present and spoil the future.” Will frowned for a moment, then covered Hannibal’s hand with his own and pressed his lips against his palm. “Our future.”

“Mason Verger is dead,” Hannibal asserted shortly.

“But his legacy lives on, branded on blood and breath.”

“It’s not Mason Verger’s legacy that lives on, Will. It’s our own. It’s a perpetual reminder of our victory.”

Will was looking out the window absentmindedly. He could see orange trees in front of their house, bending under the wind – the green and orange contrasting with the sky’s clear blue.  He wondered how much longer they could have lived there, before having to move on again. Hannibal continued talking, without taking his eyes off of Will.

“I still have the vivid memory of burnt and sizzling flesh – my own flesh. But I do not think of Mason Verger or his assistant, or of torture and incarceration. I think of Florence and _La Primavera_. The cold and salty waters of the Atlantic. The blazing sun above our heads and being suspended amidst the darkness of the ocean with you. I think of all elements – separate or intertwined – that brought us here, to this very precise moment.”

“Scars have the power to remind us that the past was real,” Will finally spoke, after listening to Hannibal in silence.

“Our past is the only reality we can cling on. The present is too abstract of a thought to hold on to, and the future much more so. Even as we speak, we collect moments and fragments of life and seal them into our memory.”

“Memory is a scrapbook,” Will added, and they both smiled.

“You bringing me coffee is already a matter of past.”

“No, it’s not,” Will protested, making a face. He stretched to get the two coffee cups from the end table near their bed, and offered one of them to Hannibal. “My name is Will Graham. It is…” He checked the clock on the wall, and then continued. “Half past-one in the afternoon. We are on the East coast of Spain. You are Hannibal Lecter and you will enjoy the coffee I made for us. This is all real and very much in the present.”

Hannibal’s lips curved into a fond smile, and he kissed Will’s knuckles. It was the same old trick they used back when Will’s encephalitis was making him mentally unstable. The purpose was to remind both of them that everything was inescapably real, that they were not dreaming or hallucinating. They were together, far away from the FBI’s threat, and it was what both of them wanted.

Although difficult at first, Will was eventually going to accept the idea that no scar could pin them down, drag them underneath, and suffocate them under the past’s weight. They were alive and moving forwards through time as ripe fruits of blood and breath.


End file.
